Forever in Debt
by Sanctuary4All
Summary: John is blackmailed by the real Jack the Ripper
1. Prologue

_**Co-Author:** SanctuaryLover_

_I do not own Sanctuary_

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John Druitt stalked through the streets of the London trying to force his heartbeat to calm as it beat against his chest with enough force to make his ears ring. Despair snapped at his heels for the hopelessness of his situation, he felt so sick with himself that he feared opening his mouth lest he vomit and Bartholomhew's words echoed around his head.

_"...He wants you to kill someone John, another whore and he wants one of the other Five to see so they'll have no doubt of you guilt... And if you refuse he says Helen's as good as dead..."_

"Lonely tonight, gentlemen?" Molly's voice drifted to his ears and he forced himself to repress a sigh, why couldn't there just have been no one out tonight?

"Still at it, Molly?" John asked her from the darkness, hoping she'd decide to go home before one of the Five showed up. He had never killed before and the second last thing he wanted was to do it now, the last thing of course being hearing of Helen's death.

"Oh...Mr. Druitt, you frightened me. No rest for the gifted, you know that," Molly greeted him nervously, probably fearful of finding Jack the Ripper but he was to play that horrible role tonight.

"Indeed I do," he agreed stepping forward out of the shadows, silently cursing that she hadn't run.

"You shouldn't be in the habit of jumping out at the ladies these days, what with all the troubles," Molly complained and he wanted so bad to warn her but he couldn't, it was either her or Helen.

"What was I thinking? Forgive me," John apologized with a much deeper meaning than he let show as he walked towards her and began to remove the concealed blade from the cane he'd been given.

"John! This ends here," Helen exclaimed and he hoped he succeeded in not wincing, why did it have to be her on watch tonight? He wondered if _he_ had done it on purpose just to test him, it wouldn't surprise him.

"Helen, what a lovely surprise," he forced himself to say with a smile as he put the blade back in and walked over beside his soon-to-be victim, "Molly, I would like you to meet my fiancee. Or, should I say, former fiancee, Helen Magnus. Doctor Helen Magnus."

"Doctor? I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am. Well...I'll be on my way," Molly said nervously stumbling over the words, John wished she could have been a horrible person or at least someone he didn't know as he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him.

"Stay. I insist," John told her trying to concentrate on looking at Helen, he was doing this for her, to save her life.

"John, let me help you before you make things worse," Helen offered and he had to smile inwardly at her, her kindness never ceased to amaze him and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself at her feet and explain everything to her but he knew he could not, if not he might as well be pulling the trigger himself, or however _he_ would decide to kill her, he wanted not to dwell on that.

"And how is that possible? I've already murdered, what," he retorted instead and tried to remember how many victims Jack the Ripper was supposed to have killed, "seven whores? How could one more make the slightest difference?"

"Murdered?" Molly repeated looking horrified and he was forced to grab her and bring the knife to her throat while holding the hand over her mouth, silently he prayed to whoever was listening for forgiveness.

"What more have I to lose?" he asked of Helen trying to stay in character.

"Your power's driving you mad, John. I can help," Helen offered yet again, why did it have to be her?

"My power is all I have left," he invented trying to keep up with the conversation before Helen pulled a revolver at him, he knew he shouldn't be surprised but a part of him hurt that she'd so easily kill him.

"Let her go," Helen said forcefully and he tried to figure out how he could escape with both his and Helen's lives intact.

"As the lady wishes," John offered beginning to remove his hand.

Helen's focus lagged slightly and as quick as he could he slit the poor woman's throat before teleporting away with a stinging feeling against hims cheek. He reappeared in Bartholomhew's house and half collapsed against the wall, a sob escaped him as he thought of what he had just done and slumped to the ground with a hand to the wound on his face.

"John?" questioned Bartholomhew entering the room and instantly moving over to him.

"I killed her Barty!" John yelled as the tears streamed from his eyes, "I'm a murderer! Oh god, what have I done?"

"I'm sorry," his friend offered sympathetically, "Are you hurt?"

"Yeah," John replied moving his hand away and looking at the sticky blood clinging to his hand, "Helen was the one who... she..."

"She's alive," Barty told him firmly going and wringing out a damp cloth before returning and holding it to the wound, "you saved her life, think of that not of the dead girl."

"I wish none of this had ever happened," John moaned bitterly, "why Barty? Why?"


	2. Chapter 1

_**Co-Author:** SanctuaryLover_

_Thanks so much to melissaadams22 and Japanese and Chocolate for reviewing and for your advice, constructive criticism is always welcome :) I am trying to keep it as canon as possible and as realistic as possible and I'll try throw in more description. Okay this chapter is a little weird but it will make sense later on so bear with me_

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_1885_

"I'm in love!" Serena Sapphire announced barging her way into the rather large study.

He glanced up at his one and only friend with one eyebrow raised as she positioned herself in the seat before him, she was what he considered to be pretty with a petite body and face with dazzlingly deep blue eyes, a shade of sapphire worthy of her surname.

"Who is it this time?" he asked sardonically leaning back in the oak wood chair.

"John Druitt," she answered dreamily sinking into the seat, "I met him yesterday when I was visiting my aunt in Oxford. He is so handsome and polite and kind and smart and-"

"Taken," he interrupted her, "word on the street is he is with Helen Magnus."

"I can dream can't I Ren?" she complained pouting, "so what have you been up to while I'm gone?"

"The usual," he informed her blandly not wanting to elaborate on his nefarious activities for obvious reasons.

"So nothing then?" she scoffed raising an eyebrow and he inclined his head in agreement before a fit of coughing overcame him, "still haven't seen a doctor about that then?"

"No," he answered weakly rubbing his throbbing head.

"You're not a lowly orphan boy any longer Ren," Serena pointed out, "we rich people see doctors who cure us when we are sick rather than simply hoping you don't die."

"I'll be fine," he said brushing off her concern.

"You've been ill for months," she informed him with a hint of concern gracing her features, "what's the harm in letting a doctor look at you? And don't say because of your power."

"I wasn't going to say that," he complained rolling his eyes, in truth he just despised having to deal with people, the only good people were dead people apart from Serena.

"Well good because I have invited John's father, Dr William Druitt to look at you," she informed him and he had to blink in shock as she rose, "he arrives in an hour, best prepare yourself."

He waited for her to leave before he let out a frustrated sigh, and glared at the unnecessarily garish paintings on the walls, now he'd have to endure a barrage of prodding and questions, at least he'd get to kill the man.

"Well?" Ren asked frustrated, raising an eyebrow at the doctor who was packing up his things.

Dr William Druitt was not exactly forthcoming with information and he had a face that inspired boredom, add that to the fact he liked to go over everything at least five times in between scratching his head, Ren just wanted him to give his unhelpful verdict so he could be done with him.

"You're dying Mister Sheppard," Druitt announced apologetically.

"Dying? Seriously?" Ren repeated somewhat doubtfully.

"A rare blood disease I'm afraid," Druitt continued in his drawl, "there is no cure, you'd need a miracle to survive. I estimate you have a few months left, a year at the most. All you can do is get your affairs in order and all that, I am sorry."

"Well isn't that shocking," he mused, still unconvinced by Druitt's diagnosis as he reached for the wine glass he had poisoned in readiness and offered it to Druitt who accepted it gratefully.

"Why thank you sir," Druitt offered cheerfully sipping at the wine, "you're a true gentleman Mister Sheppard."

"The exact opposite actually," Ren replied smiling maliciously at the man, "I was abandoned as a baby and grew in a poor orphanage or sometimes the streets, I've had to teach myself the ways of the rich and literally kill the man who owned this house to get it."

"That's not a very funny joke," Druitt pointed out scowling suddenly.

"I'm not joking," Ren informed him still smirking.

"Why would you tell me this then?" Druitt questioned looking bewildered.

"Because I've just killed you so it doesn't matter what I say to you," Ren told him honestly removing his ever-present leather gloves and flexing his hands in nervous preparation for using his power.

Right on cue Druitt's face drained of color and he started to quiver, panic became written into his lined face as the glass fell from his fingers and shattered onto the old oak floor. He clutched at his chest and slumped to the ground, gasping in pain as the poison embedded itself into his body.

"My own personal concoction, kills you quickly, quietly and looks like a heart attack," Ren continued brightly, delighting in his pain, "do you like it?"

"P-P-Plea-Please," Druitt begged in between labored breaths, "I… don-don't… wa-want… t-to… d-d-die."

"Oh please," Ren sneered kneeling to his level and looking into his victim's pathetic excuse for brown eyes, "begging is the worst form of cowardice. Now listen, I was born with a gift, the ability to know anything and everything about whatever person or object my hands come into contact with. In a few seconds I shall know everything that has ever happened to you, everything you have ever done, felt, wanted or experienced. We shall see whether you speak the truth or not about my… illness and whether or not you deserve to live."

Taking a deep breath Ren reached out and placed his hand on Druitt's sweaty forehead, he managed not to gasp as the onslaught of memories streamed through his mind, from Druitt's first breath of fresh air to his panicked plea for life. He saw everything the man had ever done as it imprinted itself permanently into his memory, all in a single second. Ren's hand flinched violently away from Druitt as if burned and took a few shuddering breaths, Druitt had spoken the truth. He was dying.

"I really am dying," Ren whispered shocked as he re seated himself and hurriedly pulled his gloves back on.

"I… am… so-sorry," Druitt wheezed, his face still scrunched up in pain.

"But you did lie to me about there not being a cure," Ren snapped glaring at his latest victim, "your son mentioned to you that he was doing experiments with rare blood, blood with miraculous healing properties. If I could get my hands on that then it will save me."

"You-You'll… nev-never… g-g-get… it," Druitt told him weakly, "I… wi-will… he-help… you… I-if… you… gi-gi-give… me… the… ant-anti-antidote."

"With the right persuasive letters you'd be surprised what people do," Ren informed him rubbing his head, "and I lied to you, there is no antidote whether you deserve to live or not."

"Bast-Bastard," Druitt spat and Ren glanced down at him amused.

"One can't help how they were born can they?" he muttered, "they can only choose how they live and I am going to do that."

Druitt curled his lips into one last defiant snarl but the life left his eyes, Ren stared unblinking at the gaping eyes of the corpse for a minute. It never ceased to amaze him how he could feel nothing when he ended someone's life, on the contrary, the dead were the only solid things aside from himself that didn't give him the reels of memories. In a way he considered himself dead too, maybe that was why he didn't care.

Shaking his head he rubbed his eyes and glanced at the exquisite gold clock the previous house owner seemed to have favored, he still had an hour to drag the corpse outside for Barty to collect and then meet Serena for dinner, there was no rush. He sighed thoughtfully as a smile caught his face, he had the perfect idea of how to frame John and help his friend all in one neat package.

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_For the record John Druitt's father was called William Druitt, he was a doctor and he did die in 1885 from a heart attack_


	3. Chapter 2

**_Co-Author: _**_SanctuaryLover_

_And thank you so much to melissaadams22 for reviewing the last chapter! I'm sorry this chapter is bad and kind of OOC but it gets better_

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_1885_

"So you know John, I was thinking about who should go first when we do inject ourselves," Nigel was saying cheerfully to John as the pair wandered through the dusky Oxford streets to the house they were renting while they studied, "one of us should go first to make sure its safe plus I think it would piss Nikola off, don't you think John? John?"

"What?" John muttered uninterested, news of his father's death had been on the forefront of his mind all day.

"You're not even listening to me are you?" Nigel complained raising an eyebrow.

"No," John sighed.

"What is troubling you?" Nigel questioned worriedly and John hesitated before deciding he might as well tell him.

"I got word this morning that my father had died," John explained regretfully, "a heart attack they say."

"I'm sorry," Nigel offered giving him a sympathetic pat on the back, "why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I didn't want to bother any of you," John answered sadly.

"Hey you know what would cheer you up mate?" Nigel offered snapping his fingers triumphantly.

"No," John sighed, "please enlighten me."

"A trip down to the Chester Arms," Nigel offered beaming putting an arm around his friend and gesturing grandly, "we can drown your sorrows in ale and brandy or whatever else Herman is selling at that place."

"I don't know Nigel," John said insecurely, "I don't really think Helen will approve of me going on a drinking binge."

"Oh come on," Nigel pleaded rolling his eyes, "you're courting not married, forget what she'll say and just live a little. Fine drink, fine company, we can toast to the great man your father was- hey watch it!"

The last was directed at someone who brushed past them and nearly fell onto the gray cobbled ground, John shook his head at what he assumed was a drunken lout who had apparently lost one of his gloves. The young man muttered what seemed to be an apology before scurrying away quickly.

"So what do you say? A few rounds at the Chester?" Nigel asked returning them back to the subject, "what's the worst that could happen?"

"Very well," John agreed reluctantly, "lead the way my friend."

Nigel cheerfully turned them in the correct direction leading them to the Chester Arms, it was instantly recognizable from the brightly colored sign hanging outside of the white walled bar which was of odd contrast to the fading golden letters falling off from above the old oak door. They barged their way into the already crowded pub, people were laughing and cheering at some folk song someone was playing. They squeezed their way through the throng to the bar where Nigel ordered them some drinks.

"A toast," Nigel announced loudly trying to be heard over the crowd, "to your father! Requiescat in pace oh great pater of my friend!"

"Whatever you said," John agreed clinking their glasses and downing the cheap ale.

"How refreshing," Nigel commented before waving the empty glass at Herman, "keep them coming mate!"

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John stared sadly into the swill in the bottom of the grubby glass, he'd lost track of Nigel awhile ago after he disappeared with a lady of the night leaving him alone with his sorrows. He'd never been much of a drinker let alone in the crowded bar scene without his friend, he had just decided that it was his last glass when a woman came and sat next to him, dressed nicer than most of the ruffians in this place. He frowned slightly at the raven haired beauty trying to place where he had seen her before, his inebriated mind finally place meeting her at the university, she was related to one of his professors.

"Miss Sapphire?" he questioned praying he had gotten her name right and to his relief she smiled at him brightly.

"Why yes Mister Druitt," she exclaimed receiving her brandy, his favorite drink if it didn't cost so much, "I'm impressed you remember me."

"Never forget a pretty face," he offered before flushing with embarrassment, "I am terribly sorry, forgive me my lady I am slightly drunk you see."

"Its quite alright Mister Druitt," she announced brushing it off, "we are in a drinking establishment after all."

"Fair point," he agreed, "and please call me John."

"I shall be Serena then," she told him smiling again as he finished the last of his ale, "would you like some brandy? I am mourning the loss of my uncle and I don't really want to drink alone."

"I am so sorry about your uncle," John offered slightly shocked, "we make quite a pair you and I, my father has just died also."

"I am sorry to hear that John," Serena apologized handing him a glass of brandy, "we must toast to the dearly departed souls of the ones we love."

"Well said," he agreed raising his glass, one more couldn't hurt.

* * *

John half opened his eyes to see the fuzzy shapes merging together uncooperatively, he groaned and rolled onto his back as he clutching at his head as he wondered how much he had drank last night. He closed his eyes again wondering what time it was, judging by the intolerable brightness he had probably missed his first class by a few hours. Silently he vowed never to listen to Nigel again and forced his eyes open, the moldings on the ceiling were very decorative and he traced the exquisite pattern for a minute before a horrific thought struck him, his bedroom didn't have moldings on the ceiling.

Panicked he sat up sharply as his eyes darting around the unfamiliar bedroom, it was like that of an inn maybe or an extremely bare bedchamber. With a sudden sinking heart he glanced down beside him to find a sleeping girl, the one from the bar... Serena. His heartbeat started to thunder as it dawned on him what he had done, frantically he jumped out of bed and scrambled for his scattered clothes pulling them on in a rush he accidentally tripped into a nearby desk. Mentally cursing he noticed he'd knocked over an ink-pot and the dark liquid pooled onto a half written letter addressed "dear mother" in an elegant swirl, rolling his eyes he corrected the ink-pot but the noise had awoken her regardless.

"Where are you going in a hurry?" she questioned sleepily.

"Class," he answered bluntly edging closer to the door, "I am late for class but I shall definitely come see you later, alright? Good see you later!"

With that he darted from the room as fast as he could without running and exited the inn, he was practically running by the time he got back to the house he and Nigel rented for a change of clothes, his current ones stank of alcohol and perfume which he could obviously not wear into the University or more importantly in front of Helen, if she knew he had cheated on her then they were through. It was like some kind of nightmare, silently he vowed never to take Nigel's advice again. He paused in his mental rant upon noticing a piece of paper pinned to the door which he snatched up abruptly.

"This better be useful Nigel," he muttered under his breath.

But it wasn't from Nigel as he had first assumed, he scanned the words and then re-scanned the words, this _was _some kind of nightmare he corrected himself and looked around worriedly for any sign of someone watching him. For the note read:

_I know what you did last night_

_I want a syringe of the source blood _

_Or I will tell Helen Magnus._

_I will be in touch  
_


End file.
